Matters of Opinion
by HugAZombie
Summary: Two Shot: "This is a sin for which I deserve to be punished." Ritsuka, Volume 1
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Loveless, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to Yun Kouga_

_**Notes: **__Two- shot. First ever piece of lemon [which will turn up in the next part. I am really worried about that bit :/] Hmm.. not too sure if I have written this that well, but never mind – it's been bugging me for a long time so I wrote it. Unbeta'd _

_Oh and in my mind Ritsuka is a lot older than 12, because he acts a lot older at times and that may have come across in the writing. I meant to keep him at that age, but I don't think he has –scans through – yup I have put in allusions to him being older. Sorry. xD _

_**Media:**__ Manga I guess. _

_**Spoilers: **__None _

_**Characters:**__SoubixRitsuka._

**Rituska's Opinion: "I deserve to be punished."**

"_This is a sin for which I deserve to be punished." Ritsuka, Volume 1_

Eating shouldn't be such a trial – and yet in the Aoyagi home, it is. The simplest things that most take for granted are all trials for the youngest Aoyagi, with his mother acting as judge, jury and executioner. And he has no saviour, not anymore. His father escapes at work, leaving before the others wake and returning once he knows they are asleep. His brother is dead, cruelly slain by assailants unknown – burnt and then abandoned in Ritsuka's own seat at school.

_Seimei... _

He just doesn't have the energy to be watchful tonight, but he will try. The boy looks over his food, narrowing his eyes. He tries to remember, tries to think about what _that_ Ritsuka would've liked and what he would've hated. Sure, he doesn't mind the taste of shredded cabbage, but did _that_ Ritsuka enjoy it? Would _that_ Ritsuka have eaten it without hesitation or wrinkled his nose in disgust and surreptitiously swept it to the side?

Ritsuka eyes his mother, noting the testing gaze. She is watching. She is always watching, waiting for him to slip – anticipating it.

"Are you oaky, Ritsuka-kun? Don't you like it?" she asks. She sounds normal. She sounds motherly. If he chooses correctly, she will remain so. If not... Ritsuka doesn't let that thought continue. He will deal with that if it happens.

"I'm fine mother," he answers guardedly. He loves his mother – he knows he does. And he knows that he deserves the punishment he gets for not being _her _Ritsuka. If he was, perhaps everything would have been okay. If he had been _her_ Ritsuka, maybe his father would show his face about the home a bit more, maybe Seimei wouldn't have been brutally murdered.

Maybe Ritsuka should never have been born.

The boy, after a glance at his mother, takes his chopsticks in hand. Luckily, being right- or left-handed is not something you can easily change. Even after the memory loss, using his right hand felt natural, easier. It's the only thing that hadn't changed.

Except his face.

Curse this damn face.

He doesn't want it. Not if it causes his mother so much pain. Cast it off and burn it, obliterate it in the same flames that consumed his brother.

It is a desire in vain. His face remains and his brothers' flames have long since burnt out.

He takes the cabbage with a heavy gaze. It's like a game of Russian Roulette –this cabbage the loaded gun with his mother acting as the bullet. It hovers in front of him. Would he have eaten this? With an odd sense of emptiness, Ritsuka opens his mouth and chews. He doesn't mind the taste, it's edible – faintly salty from the seasoning.

"Do you..." his mothers' voice cracks under the weight of her accusation. "Do you like that?" Ritsuka swallows his bite and puts his chopsticks down. He knows where this is going. He has chosen incorrectly – and he will pay the price willingly for his deception.

"It's okay..." he answers, eyes glancing up to meet his mother. Her hands slam onto the table. The crockery shakes with the force of it. He starts in spite of himself, eyes slamming shut for an instant before he wrenches them open.

He deserves to be punished.

"No... Ritsuka doesn't like cabbage." Her eyes flash wildly. "It makes him sick. He pushes it to the side." And she is standing, palms still pressed to the table. There is an echoing bang as her chair tumbles onto its back. Ritsuka doesn't feel the familiar grasping fingers of fear. He is too tired, too exhausted with everything to fear this anymore.

So when the harsh resounding smack and the explosion of reddened pain spreads across his cheek, Ritsuka doesn't even flinch. His head just snaps to the side and stays there, eyes downcast and ears drooping in acceptance. The tears are caused by the harsh stinging he tells himself, not the ache in his heart. He is accustomed to pain, more so then he cared to recognise.

He stands, eyes still focused on the floor. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

"Sorry? You're sorry?" she spits, hisses like snake. "You imposter!" her rough, clawing hands grasps his shoulders and shoves him back. He staggers against the weight, his body falling with no control – he slams into the chair and careens backwards. He's positioned awkwardly over the fallen chair, wincing. His hip burns with pain from being smashed at such a force into the hard floor. The back of his legs will be bruised in a long strip and his back aching in the morning.

"You disgust me!" She screams. The same words. More words. Hate. Loathing. Pain. They tear at his sanity, more bloodied lacerations to add to the delicate threads of his soul – damaging, scarring. Ritsuka pushes himself up into a sitting position, his wrist protesting in remainder of an injury only just healed. The long fingered hand once again collides with the sensitive flesh of his cheek and this time Ritsuka doesn't fall without a noise. A soft whimper, a barely noticeable noise tumbles from bloodied lips as he is thrown against the floor once more.

Agony implodes in his brain as his head bounces against the floor. His vision goes fuzzy for a moment and he blinks to clear it. "You are not my son," she whispers, voice broken and distraught. Her tears flood her cheeks, glistening crystal against the rage-red of her cheeks. "I want you out of my house! Get out! _Get out!"_

Ritsuka resists the urge to touch the corner of his mouth. "This is my home, mother. I'm not going to leave." The scream of frustration and anger fills the kitchen. "I'm sorry," Ritsuka continues, voice wavering as she scrambles away from the chair and struggles to stand. "I'm sorry."

She runs at him, grabbing by the front of his shirt. "If you don't leave," she hisses into his ear. "Then _die." _She slams his head into the kitchen counter. The boy criers out but doesn't make a move to fight back. He can apologise. He does apologise. But it doesn't change the fact he is not Ritsuka, not her son. He deserves this for the pain he brings her. He deserves this for being an imposter. "If you die, then Seimei and the real Ritsuka can come back! Don't you get it? You _have_ to go!

Another brutal slam of his head to the counter and his vision starts to blacken around the edges. This is the third bump to the head he has had this evening. He can't blink away this darkness, instead it calls to him, whispers promises of nothingness and embraces him. It lulls him to sleep, coaxing him to join them in their dreamland, where nothing hurts, where Seimei is alive, where Ritsuka is the Ritsuka of a few years ago. This is where things are right. Things are as they should be.

The boy doesn't notice how he goes limp in his mothers restraining arms, nor how his mother drops him to the floor – overcome with grief and guilt. He doesn't notice the tears she weeps for him, for the boy she has abused, nor the tears she weeps for herself, a woman who cannot stop the pain. She is a mother, she should nurture not harm.

And yet she cannot control her rages, her anger. She wants to, by Christ she wants to. She touches her sons' hair, stroking it lovingly before she chokes on her sobs, a hand pressed against her mouth.

Oh God, what has she done? And she runs, runs from the body, from the evidence of her treachery, her insanity. She clambers up the stairs, staggering, stumbling and falling into her room. She slams the door shut to lock out the whispers, the memory of her hand as it slammed into her sons' face.

His cages her face in her hands and weeps.

And below in the kitchen, Ritsuka sleeps on – lost in a sea of memories.

He doesn't want to wake up; why would he want to leave here? Here, where everything is okay. Here, where Seimei can help him with his homework, can laugh with him at their TV shows, where Seimei can protect him from the nightmares that plague him.

But he can feel the tendrils of his blissful sleep start to loosen. Seimei becomes a little vague, distant and no matter how hard Ritsuka runs, his brother remains just out of reach. Seimei smiles, he stretches out a hand Ritsuka cannot take. He says words that Ritsuka cannot hear. His brother is fading, disappearing into the nothingness of his memory.

Ritsuka is losing him all over again.

And it hurts – his heart is aching with a love that can never be acknowledged again, with the pain of missing someone who can never come back.

Dead. Gone. He had once thought Seimei was immortal, forever, perpetual in the naivety of his youth. But he had been wrong – horribly wrong. Seimei was mortal like the rest of them. Seimei was dead like the rest of them will be.

_Seimei..._

It is the name on his lips as Ritsuka's eyes open reluctantly. The warmth of the dreams is ebbing into the chill of the kitchen. His head is pounding, throbbing. His eyes are hazy, sight blurred. He can't get his limbs to obey his orders. His fingers twitch. He feels queasy, like he is going to throw up – dizzy and disorientated.

How much time has passed?

Ritsuka grits his teeth, and forces himself into a sitting position. His head is in agony, his body is lead. His fingers grope along the counter and he uses the grip to haul himself upright. His world spins and lurches sickeningly; Ritsuka retches but doesn't vomit.

His feet shuffle forward on his command. He sways dangerously, but each movement is getting easier. His world isn't so turbulent. With each step he regains control, so by the time he gets out of the kitchen and at the base of the stairs Ritsuka is only a little shaky on his feet.

Ignoring his injuries, Ritsuka climbs the stairs, wincing at the twinge of his wrist when he leans a little too heavily on the banister for support. He grimaces and carries on. He pauses outside his mothers' room, pressing an ear to the door for any signs of life. His tail twitches as his ears flick. Just beyond the wooden door, he can detect the low breathing of a lumbering person.

His heart is a little less heavy. She is unharmed – that is all that matters. He limps away, quietly easing into his room and closing the door. He stays at his door for an instant, his palm pressed against the cool wood.

"Ritsuka." The boy tenses at the sound of the voice, a flare of annoyance and irritation sparks in his gut as well as a strange sense of relief. He relaxes, embracing the latter emotion, and glances over his shoulder. There, leaning against the frames of his French windows, is a tall, long haired blonde. His glasses glint in the dulling light of the evening sky and his hair is distilled by a stray breeze. The breeze caresses Ritsuka with the familiar smell of tobacco and whatever is used to wash those clothes.

"Soubi."

It is a smell of comfort. Ritsuka hides a small smile of happiness and keeps his position. He barely even flinches when he hears Soubi push away from the door jams and approach him. He doesn't move when arms slide around his waist in comfort, locking together at the front. There is a moment when neither moves, before Ritsuka sighs, and lets his head fall back onto the blondes' shoulder. For years this has been happening, Soubi sneaking in through his window – at first it had irritated him. But now Ritsuka can only sleep peacefully if the older man is with him. Somehow his presence keeps the nightmares at bay.

"I could stop it, Ritsuka," Soubi offers, his breath warm against Ritsuka's neck. The boy shivers. "Just give me the order..."

"No. I don't want that. It's not her fault." His own admission of guilt is silently tagged on the end, but Soubi either doesn't notice or just doesn't comment. Ritsuka suspects the latter.

"Let me take care of you then." Ritsuka goes to refuse, but relents, gently nodding his head. Soubi would do it anyway – he has a habit of disobeying or finding loopholes in Ritsuka's commands into order to satisfy what he wants to do. So the boy allows Soubi to take his hand and sit him on the bed. He allows himself to be tended to, to be cared for and to feel like he is loved – why he allows it when he usually rejects offers of friendship and care, he isn't sure. He doesn't care to know. All he needs to know is that Soubi is here now.

And Ritsuka finds he is content enough with the knowledge.

.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Loveless, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to Yun Kouga_

_**Notes: **__Two- shot. First ever piece of lemon I am actually really quite nervous about this part :/ I can characterize okay in prose, but speech really screws me over. I can never get speech right – at least, I don't think so anyway. Hope you enjoy anyways. __ Thank you for reading. _

_Ritsuka is older than in a manga, because in my mind he IS older because he acts older. Besides, morally speaking, a 20 years old shouldn't be interested in a 12 year old that way so I made him about 15. I know its manga, but I don't feel completely comfortable writing it. So yeah, Ritsuka is older without actual intent. Sorry. xD _

_UNBETA'D – PLEASE CRITQUE! I KNOW I NEED IT aha__._

_**Media:**__ Manga I guess. _

_**Spoilers: **__None _

_**Characters:**__SoubixRitsuka._

**Soubi's Opinion: **

"_How could I have known that I would come to love him so much?" Soubi, Volume 1_

Ritsuka had limped from the warm circle of Soubi's arms over to his bed, barely concealing a wince as his he leant on his wrist. And Soubi had watched through narrowed eyes – the boy shouldn't have to be limping, he shouldn't be wincing or grimacing. Soubi had, after watching that saddening sight, rifled through Ritsuka's drawers in his desk for the first add kit Soubi knew he kept in there. He smiled at the glassed case, the broken, inkless pens and the odd notebook. There had been a photo album that Soubi had been tempted to look through but had resisted, taking the kit and closing the drawer with a softened snap.

Now he kneels in front of the dark haired boy, silently wrapping his wrist in clean white linen – tight for support. It had barely healed, and he knows it must be aching. Next, he unwraps a surgical wipe, gently folds it and glances at Ritsuka. He doesn't bother to tell the boy that this will sting, Ritsuka already knows.

But still he winces when Soubi wipes gently but firmly at his wipe, cleansing his skin of blood and any possible germs. They both stay silent through the process – Ritsuka neither admonishes him nor thanks him. He remains quiet, his pride a formidable force. His eyes are downcast, his ears flat to his head and his tail limp. He is the very picture of a boy who has given up, who is exhausted and broken.

"Where else does it hurt?" Ritsuka's ear twitches. Soubi had made a promise years ago to Seimei, promised he would protect the younger Aoyagi. But this goes far beyond any promise, goes beyond words and has morphed into something so much more.

"Ritsuka...?" His large eyes glance up and Soubi can tell he is about to shrug but he thinks better of it. The boy seems to be less inclined to bother with his facade. He doesn't want to be strong – he shouldn't have to be, Soubi thinks. A boy his age shouldn't have to be so independent.

"My head."

Soubi raises an eyebrow. "You should go to hospital."

"No!" Those eyes, once so broken, are now glittering and fierce. "No. I won't. They'll ask questions, they might try to take me from her." His eyes soften. "I can't leave her alone." Soubi says nothing. He has often argued this point with the young boy – but Ritsuka will see no reason. Misaki is his mother and he will not abandon her.

It's admirable in a way, but completely stupid in another.

"You could have concussion," Soubi says but Ritsuka shakes his head.

"I won't go."

Soubi sighs, dropping the used surgical wipe into the box to be disposed of later. He sits back on his hunches, crossing his arms and leaning them on his knees. Soubi smiles comfortingly and shrugs. There is an elongated silence, and Ritsuka's ear twitches again. The boys' sleek tail slips from around his waist and rests so it hangs off the bed, the tip landing on Soubi's knee.

The blonde glances down at it, daring to reach out a few fingers to stroke the soft fur, and it flinches away before relaxing. Ritsuka watches Soubi with wide eyes – no one ever touches his tail. It's too intimate, like stroking a stomach or caressing the inner thighs. Strange to think, but true – in his case at least. But the soft brush of flesh against his tail is oddly calming, as is the familiar smell and warmth of Soubi's proximity.

Soubi concentrates on stroking the black tail on his knees, light touches to soft fur. It's strange – it's been so long since Soubi had a tail. His was lost years ago, and so touching Ritsuka's is a novelty. He doesn't miss his ears or tail, only forgotten what it is to have them.

A small hand then encloses around his fingers, stilling their movements. Soubi glances up into his young patients' eyes – dark orbs that are struggling with something. Soubi questions slightly, eyes flicking down unintentionally at the Ritsuka's pouting lips before meeting those eyes once more. Soubi laces their hands together and uses the leverage to pull Ritsuka towards him.

The kiss is chaste, gentle due to the wound Ritsuka suffered. The boys' noise of surprise is lost, swallowed by Soubi's lips. He waits, half expecting to be shoved away once the shock and the tension fades – it is the usual sequence of events. But it does not come. Instead, Soubi feels Ritsuka's free hand twisting in the front of his shirt, holding him in place as he kisses back. Soft flesh moves against soft flesh.

It's quiet, tentative. Soubi moves with caution, not wanting to frighten Ritsuka back into his shell. Ritsuka kisses with the nervousness of the inexperienced. Soubi pulls away for a moment, leaning his forehead to Rituska's. His eyes are questioning, searching those almost scared orbs gazing back at him.

And when he leans in this time, Ritsuka meets him half way. The boy kisses a little more this time, closing his eyes against the flush of embarrassment flooding his cheeks. He starts a little when a requesting tongue licks at his bottom lip before disappearing again. There's a jolt in his heart and he is unsure if it is nerves or something else.

When Soubi dares to ask silently again, Ritsuka willingly parts his lips, half curious, half terrified. There's a sizzle of electricity screaming down Ritsuka's spine. Soubi always kisses him, chaste presses of lips. But this is different. This, Ritsuka wants.

Soubi eases his tongue into Rituska's mouth, teasing, soothing, stroking. It's wet, Ritsuka is passive but it's nice – it's comfort. Smaller hands tentatively slide up Soubi's chest and curls into his hair, twisting, grabbing. Soubi responds, his own hands shifting to the boys waist, pulling the younger boy closer to him. He deepens the kiss, quickening the pace. He nips so gently at the fuller lower lip and Rituska's whimpers. It's a breathy noise, broken by hitching breath and uncertainty. It speaks directly to Soubi's groin, and he isn't sure to be disgusted by that or not.

Soubi breaks the kiss, glancing at Ritsuka – who is looking flushed and glassy eyed. His eyes glitter with something new, something interesting and his lips are starting to swell with kisses. His hands still curl in the blondes' hair, restricting Soubi's movements. Not that _that_ particularly bothers him.

The blonde leans in, grabbing the slim waist to his body and pressing his lips to the column of alabaster flesh presented to him. Open mouthed kisses suck portions of skin into his mouth to be pleasantly abused with teeth and tongue, nips and licks. Ritsuka gasps, fingers flexing in Soubi's hair. He swallows heavily, unsure – he knows he should stop this, but Soubi's mouth and his hands and his warmth are so inviting. They are so different from the cold harshness of his mother.

His chest feels limited, constricted and his head moves of its own accord, presenting more flesh for Soubi to abuse. The blonde works his way up to Ritsuka's ears, biting the lobe and causing Ritsuka to groan – it is broken off quickly and the boys' cheeks flush.

Soubi grins against skin, kissing the boys' jaw, stroking fingers down the other side of his throat. He isn't here to rush. His mothers' abuse was rushed and hard – Soubi wants to be the opposite, he wants to be slow and soft. He will be comfort for Ritsuka; he will be the one person Ritsuka can turn to.

The boy's fingers tighten as Soubi litters kisses along the boy's jaw before presses his lips to Ritsuka's again. He is bolder, more brazen. He leans into the kisses as he does the touches of Soubi's hand as he slips under his shirt. His breathing hitches, fingers trailing along sensitive skin. His abdominals tense as Soubi distracts the boy with his tongue. The flesh strokes and promises, drawing an indecipherable picture on the roof of Ritsuka's mouth. He whispers a moan as Soubi pushes his hands higher and brushes a nipple with a smooth palm. Ritsuka presses himself against the heat of Soubi, kissing the blonde hard – his meekness forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Soubi smiles, pushes the boy into the mattress, leaning over him as the boys' tail eases around Soubi's waist, his bent knees cradling Soubi's body. The blonde pulls back – he doesn't want to speak, lest he shock Ritsuka out of whatever has grasped him now and allowed this contact.

His fingers play with the hem of Ritsuka's shirt, questioning before Ritsuka nods – abashed. Still smiling, Soubi tugs Ritsuka free of the clothing, pressing a light kiss to his collarbone. The dark haired boy is tense, teeth gritted in nerves and need as Soubi's hands skim up his side before tweaking a dark nipple, earning himself a pleasantly sharp intake of breath. The other is covered with a mouth, lightly sucking the hardening nub. There is a mewl from above, quickly stifled by a hand ripped from blonde locks and cupped over a mouth.

The slim body arches off the bed to meet Soubi, who flicks the nub with his tongue before kissing it lightly. Covered with denim, Soubi can feel the boy's hardness, but the boy himself has his eyes squeezed shut and a hand clamped over his mouth. His chest is heaving, his back arched like a cat and his tail wrapping around Soubi's body.

"Ritsuka?"

"Shut up..." came the ground out reply, breathless. "Don't... speak to me. It's embarrassing." Soubi chuckles, shrugs and slides up Ritsuka's body to plant a kiss on his chin, whilst his hand smoothes down soft skin. He makes quick work of the button of Ritsuka's jeans, and that tension is back.

Soubi tugs the hand that has snuck over Ritsuka's mouth once more away. He kisses him, prying open his mouth with his tongue to distract him. His hand pins Ritsuka's uninjured hand to the bed. Ritsuka melts into the familiar feeling of being kissed, tilting his head and meeting Soubi's tongue with his own. He moans into the mouth, gasping as Soubi's hand slips into his jeans, grasping virgin flesh for the first time.

Fingers claw at Soubi's neck, grasping for something that they can't find. The younger boy arches, Soubi swallowing those enticing little mewls of pleasure as his hand moves in restricted movements inside the boys' jeans.

Soubi's lips transverse the flesh of Ritsuka's already tender throat, tasting him, pleasing him – earning appreciative fractured by breathlessness. Broken noises of pleasure. Fingers grip and pull at Ritsuka.

"S-Soubi..." needy, desirous, ultimately sexy. Soubi groans against Ritsuka's neck.

"You're ears won't go, if that's what your worried about."

"N-No..." He squeezes his eyes shut and Soubi pauses in his movements.

"Then what?"

"I want... I..." With a devilish smirk, Soubi moves his hand and Ritsuka moans, his back arcing as his fingers clutch at the covers beneath him. "More..."

Soubi chuckles, he lowers his head to nip a thin, bony hip as his hands work at freely Ritsuka from his jeans. Ritsuka closes his eyes, a throaty gasp escaping as Soubi ducks his head and pulls the head into his mouth, sucking lightly. The boy claws at his bedding, biting his lip harshly, tasting blood as he tries to keep from making any noise.

Soubi pulls back, licking the weeping slit, before swallowing the head once more. There is a part of him screaming how decadent this really is, after all Ritsuka really is only fifteen and yet, Soubi can't restrain himself. The blonde moves forward more, swallowing the hard flesh, his tongue trailing up the main vein and sucking with just the right pressure. Ritsuka bucks up into the warm, heat heat encircling him, keening noises tumbling from trembling lips.

He needs this, he need the release this will provide. He moans as Soubi moves up and down his hardness, his tongue discovering his sensitive spots and exploiting them. It ducks under the head, flattening along the side, and all the time creating and wonderful sense of pressure. Ritsuka acts on instinct, mind hazy with a sense of pleasure, spiking and electrifying, generating from his cock and bleeding into his veins.

He feels dizzy under the hot, expert tongue now driving him towards insanity. All embarrassment, all thoughts towards stopping and the possible humiliation have been drawn out of his mind. All he can focus on is Soubi's mouth and tongue, on the hot wetness and sinful pleasure.

His hands are gripping Soubi's hair without himself realising and Soubi smiles around his mouthful, pulling back to tease the head with licks and sucks. Ritsuka is writhing, moaning into his hand, arching off the bed and flexing his fingers in Soubi's hair.

There is tension – so hard, so painful. Heat bathes his stomach and tenses his muscles. They're eyes meet and Ritsuka groans, his head falling back. Soubi can feel the tenseness of the muscles in the legs around him, in the stomach above him.

He swallows the hard flesh to base, and hums. Ritsuka makes a noise, a half sob and half whimper. The Pressure is unbelievable, building and building. He can't keep this up; the pleasure of Soubi's mouth is undeniable. It _hurts_.

Soubi sucks, hard, his tongue running flat against the flesh in his mouth and moans. There is an explosion behind his eyes – a blank whiteness. Relief floods his system and his fingers relax in the bedding. Soubi swallows the boys' release with ease, helping Ritsuka ride through his orgasm, rubbing the boys' hip.

Ritsuka sighs, falling back onto the bed. His back aches from being arced, his fingers hurt from the gripping the bed sheets. He is tired, eyes sleepy. He has to admit, that was better than anything he could've achieved with his hand.

Soubi released the now soft cock from his mouth, tucking the boy back into his jeans before moving to sit next to him. The taste of Ritsuka is still on his tongue, and he leans over to press a kiss to those lax lips. The dark haired boy, half-heartedly kisses back, tired.

"You shouldn't sleep you know," Soubi says. "You might have concussion."

Ritsuka sighs. "You shouldn't have done _that_," he snaps without any real venom, "If I slip into a coma I's your fault." Soubi snorts, shaking his head, before he stands up and takes the boy in arms. He tucked the boy up and goes to move out of the room.

"Don't leave me..." vulnerability.

Soubi smiles. "I'm not; I'll be back in a moment." Soubi slips from the room, pulling out his mobile and dialling the number of a doctor. He has a short conversation, ensuring a date with him later tonight (in which Soubi will have to try and work out a way of getting the doctor in without Ritsuka's mother finding out – but he'll cross that bridge when he gets to it.) Soubi is still smiling, fingers touching his lips in disbelief.

He shakes his head – whenever he thinks he has worked Ritsuka out, the boy always finds a way to surprise him. He pushes open the door and Ritsuka is still awake, just barely.

"Ritsuka, don't fall asleep."

"But... tired..." Soubi sighs, crawling on the bed and enveloping the boy in his arms. He doesn't miss how Ritsuka snuggles into the warmth, without a flush of embarrassment. The afterglow state of his mind making him a lot more accepting to affection.

And Soubi tucks his head under his chin. "You don't deserve what she does to you, Ritsuka. You should believe me."

"Not her's..." the boy mumbles. "Not... _her_ Ritsuka. My fault..."

"But it's not her Ritsuka I love, is it?" Soubi replies. "It's you..."

"But..."

"No buts, Ritsuka. You do not deserve to be hurt for being you, when it is you that so many people love."

Ritsuka doesn't reply, he just clasps to the heat of Soubi's body and tries to believe his words. Just for tonight.


End file.
